My Grandad's shoes [writing task twelve]

Virtual blue, 208 active
with that lion badge on the front and back
the same one on my favorite childhood videotape,
and that Remote control car you bought me for Christmas; 206 W.R.C edition,
and the others that also parked on this drive.
fourteen hundred you say, two door, nippy, sporty.
ninety-five brake, nought to sixty-two in eight, I mention.
It's not the GTI model, but to me it might as well be,
fourteen grand you paid, my early nineteenth present,
you didn't want me to break down going to uni.
I joke about coilovers and new alloy wheels.

I wear your shoes that you used to take me back to school in,
you don't want my feet to get wet
or me to wreck my 'new' trainers.
We are the same height now, and neither of us stops being busy.
You're the reason i'm here, we are here,
the car is here.

I pop the bonnet and you top up the screenwash,
then hoover as you damp cloth the plastics
and shake out the mats as you wipe the seals.
Quick spray with the hose.
"mind yourself, you'll get wet"
you say before you almost drench me.
Lather up the shampoo and apply panel by panel,
Clean off the mud and unspoken words of the last 200 miles,
and rinse.
"It's a bit damp, too damp for wax today."
We spread the water with Nan's old pajamas,
using then for now.
Paintbrush the alloys and rinse,
stand back,
Admire.

"It's a good little car"
Thanks for doing this,
"it's a pleasure."